Time to Go
by Skate-815
Summary: A Shortish sp one shot from Sam's POV, based on what should happen when Phil tells her he's leaving. Please R&R!


**Short-ish sp one shot from Sam's POV**

**This is the conversation that Sam and Phil should have before he leaves.**

**Please R&R!**

I glance up from my desk hearing the soft knock on the door. Recognising the intruder as my DS, Phil Hunter, I set down my pen with a sigh, knowing that whatever he wanted would most likely involve an argument.

It seemed that nowadays, since my promotion and his stint at the specialist crime unit, all we can do is fight amongst each other. Gone were the days when we confided in one another, and gone was the camaraderie we'd had peers. Now, I struggle, even within the realms of my own mind, to define him. We're no longer lovers, that much is certain, and it seems now that the friendship had fizzled out somewhere along the line as well. Colleague is a simple word, one that continued to stand strong throughout knowing him, but he was, and is so much more than that.

"Can we talk?" his tone is heavy, and I can't help but begin to wonder already, '_What's he done now?' _Or maybe, the more cynical aspect of me points out, should that question be '_Who has he done now?'_

"Sure" I sigh, already thinking up a way to protect his career once again, against whatever atrocity he has committed now. Is it odd that despite all that has happened, despite all that we've done to one another, I still have the urge to protect him and his job?

"I'm leaving." the words are said so casually that for a moment, I believe that he has just walked in to tell me he's going home for the day. However, as much as Phil likes to waste my time with trivial matters, even this seems a step too far for him.

"Where?" my single word is short, sharp and to the point. I don't trust myself with anything more right now.

"Specialist Crime." I barely contain a choke of laughter. Why would Specialist Crime want him? From what I hear, they couldn't wait to be rid of him. However, from the look on his face, I know that this is no lie.

"I didn't realise that you wanted to leave."

"I don't" Apparently seeing the argument that is forming on the tip of my tongue, he quickly changes his mind, "At least I didn't."

"Then why go?" I continue, aware that now, at last that it must be painfully obvious to him that he was right about me still holding a torch for him

"I'm going to be a DI" at once, I see the attraction and I know that I too would have left in his position. However, this is Phil. He never really seemed that career orientated to me, and in my earlier days at Sun Hill, I often wondered how he'd even managed to gain the rank he now has. Years of friendship has done nothing to change the fact that he is less than deserving of being a Detective Inspector. Something which he must know all too well.

Silence reigns, and he obviously feels the need to speak, to explain away his betrayal of Sun Hill

"You know how much more money it is, Sam. And I'll never get to be a DI here." too right he won't. There's not an officer in the building who doesn't know what he's like, "It'll be a fresh start for me there."

"What about hurting your leg trying to clear that pub bench?"

"Oh… you heard about that, did you?"

"Grace isn't the only one with contacts in Specialist Crime, you know." I hesitate for a moment, before continuing, "Who do you think recommended you in the first place?"

"I thought that was Neil" he frowns

"Neil wanted to pick Stuart. I persuaded him that you were the overall better decision."

"If I'd known how eager you were to get rid of me, I would have left long ago." I can tell that he's only half joking and I strive to reassure him

"I wanted you to try new things. I never thought that you would ever end up being _that_ good at it."

"Me neither." another silence overcomes us, and he clears his throat suddenly "Well… I just wanted you to be the first to know."

"Thank you." I don't bother questioning why he should tell me first. We are both so far past the childish denial of our connection.

"And it might not work out anyway." I can only hope. I don't tell him this of course. Instead I do the right thing; I show him a smile, no matter how weak it is.

"You'll do fine. All you do is sit with your feet on the desk all day and boss everyone around. It's easy really."

"I hope so" his smile is equally frail and I realize for the first time just how worried he is about this. However, who am I to comfort him? I'm not his girlfriend. I'm barely even his friend anymore.

"Good luck." I stand up and offer him a hand, "With Madison, Alfie… everything."

"You too." he smiles for the first time upon entering, "I won't be here to protect you from Stuart anymore."

"I'm sure I'll cope." he clasps my hand, and I consider walking around the table and embracing him. I decide against it. There will be plenty of time before he leaves for anything else that remains unsaid.

"So when are you going?"

"Next week…" that terrible silence arrives for the third and final time, and he is once again the one to break it "It's not like I'm leaving the country or anything…" It's going to be so strange not being with him every day though, "We'll see each other around."

However, he knows, as well as I do that that isn't true. We always say that we shall stay in contact, but after a week, a month, a year, what remains of the relationships we used to value so much is so worthless, they aren't worth more than a Christmas card. And that's it. Now we both know that there's nothing more to say than the single, finalized word

"Goodbye"

"Goodbye Phil." I want to cry, but I know that it is ridiculous. He'll be in work tomorrow, and the next day after that. He isn't leaving right this second. He must sense my agony, because he hesitates for a moment, before leaving.

"I'll miss you" he doesn't give me a chance to respond. He leaves without a backwards glance, clearly neither needing nor expecting a response.

I'll miss him too. And it's only that now, that he's about to leave that I realize just how much I will.


End file.
